Chapter Text
The birds had tucked in for the night. Crickets had begun to sing, but otherwise, the rolling countryside was peaceful and still.
At least it was, until a doorway opened in the sky.
It’s not a wholly unfamiliar sound, this tearing of the fabric between dimensions. Blue and white light spilled from the edges of the portal. It wasn't positioned so high as to draw notice for miles around – only about fifteen feet off the ground. And that’s a good thing for the youngest of the turtle brothers who came flying out, arms pinwheeling in the air. A startled cry was cut short with a whuff as he landed hard on his plastron. His chin scraped the rocky ground pretty hard and the collision punched the wind right out of him – but Mike was used to being knocked around and made a fairly quick recovery. Only seconds after landing, he was pushing himself up with a groan and fighting air back into his lungs. “Leo!” he wheezed, but couldn't manage a decent volume yet.
Maybe he didn't need volume. His other two brothers had got that covered.
“Did you – have you lost your mind ?”
“What the HELL, Leo!”
Suddenly Michelangelo was scared to look up. He knew even before coming home that Leo would be pissed off – but this is more anger than he had been prepared to face. Leo has been pushed past the point of shouting or lectures. The turtle on his knees peeked up very hesitantly and couldn't help cringing under the ice-cold intensity of his brother’s milky, sightless eyes. The glasses had come off in the struggle that preceded his forceful ejection from Third Earth.
Oh, man … Mike was still not used to seeing that.
Leonardo’s eyes might not function anymore, but that doesn’t make him blind. He had a bunch of ninja mystic chi tricks he used to compensate, and at that moment his face was focused unerringly on Mike.
“Leo, this is madness!” Donatello wasn’t visible from here, but even just hearing him arguing on Mike’s behalf helped to ease the painful constriction wrapped around his heart. “He – he only just got home! Bring him back, and let’s talk about this! You can’t just…”
“No,” Leonardo intoned in a chilling voice, not looking at Don. “He should not have returned yet. You know that, and he damn well knows it.”
“Leo! Brother!” Mike looked back up to plead, his voice raw with emotion. “ Sensei, please !”
“Mike. If you have been disgraced by the Tribunal – if you are content with having failed three of your five tests – if you are ready to give up less than six months into your training period, then you do not deserve to call me that! ” Leo’s face contorted with fresh rage and he stalked out of sight.
Raph appeared soon after Leo departed and gazed down at Mike helplessly. “I was glad you came back. This is all so fucked up,” he muttered. He glared over his shoulder and yelled, “Where the hell are you sending him, anyway?”
That’s a good point. A quick glance around confirmed that Mike had NO idea where he is. A rocky grassland at the edge of a tall stand of trees. Sloping hills in one direction, trees in the other. It’s not New York City, that’s for sure.
“Somewhere he won’t be able to run away from so easily!” Leo growled evasively, from some distance away.
“Where is he going?” Mike demanded fearfully.
Don came into view, nudging Raph aside gently and looking worried. “He’s getting your traveling bag ready, I think? Restocking it with food. You’re going to have to do a better job this time with rationing…”
“Like hell he is! Mikey ain’t going nowhere. That Tribunal can eat my ass!”
“I don’t think Leo is going to…”
“Leo can eat my ass too!” Raph exploded. “Now get in there, and use your fancy logic to talk him OUT of this crazy scheme – or I’m going in there with my style of persuasion!”
Donatello’s mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll try,” he agreed before disappearing from sight.
“Aw, shit…” Raph’s eyes widened with sudden alarm. “Do it fast, Don! This portal is shrinking!” Impulsively, the red-banded turtle dropped to his knees and stretched one arm through the glowing doorway – though being so near all this buzzing blue-white energy made him grimace with discomfort. “Can you grab my hand?”
Mike eyed the distance uncertainly. He scrambled to his feet and tried leaping from a standstill. Their fingertips brushed but he fell back to the floor.
“Almost,” Raphael encouraged. His tongue darted out to wet his mouth, looking really nervous now. “Give it a running start! You got this!”
Michelangelo nodded and jogged back far enough to launch himself at the portal with more momentum. This time his brother’s rough hand seized his own.
“Hnnf!” Raph grunted, trying to pull his brother up one-handed, then shifting his position in order to use both.
Mike managed to hook the fingers of his other hand on the concrete floor of the lair. Raph dragged him in enough that he could get his elbow propped beneath him, though his legs were still kicking in the wind. But the portal had been getting smaller by the moment. The youngest turtle is no skinny kid anymore, and realized with a stab of despair, “Raph! I – I don’t think my shell and shoulders will fit!”
“Just hang tight, buddy,” Raph pleaded, both hands gripping Mike’s arm fiercely.
“There isn’t time!” Mike insisted. “Raph, listen to me! You gotta… you gotta look out for Donnie for me, okay? Ever since – what happened to Leo – he, he’s not handling it so good, I can tell! You gotta promise me!”
“You – okay! Yeah, fine! But you’re the one being banished to God knows where! Listen… we’re gonna work this out with Leo! You don’t gotta worry. We’re gonna…”
“ What are you idiots doing ?”
This question was voiced in such a strange, fierce tone that, for a moment, Mike thought that Leo must have returned.
But he’s wrong. That wasn’t Leo.
The bo staff descended on Raph’s hands with a sickening crack. Mike could feel the secondary impact jar through his arm up to the shoulder. It was startling enough that he lost his grip and fell back to the ground.
Raphael hissed in pain and twisted towards their brother with a snarl. “Mother fucker! You broke my fucking wrist!”
“Not that arm!” Donatello snarled back at him, still brandishing his weapon. “What have I told you? Not that arm. You can't go and dangle him through a shrinking magical portal by that arm , you fucking Neanderthal!”
“He’s fine, Donnie.” This voice does belong to Leonardo. He sounded much calmer now as he commanded them, “Get out of my way, both of you.”
“You guys are going to kill each other without me around to lighten the mood,” Mike pointed out softly. He gave Leo a look of appeal, but his brother’s visage was impenetrable.
Leonardo crouched down so that he could still be seen through the considerably smaller portal. “They’ll be fine,” he intoned gravely. “And so will you. Here.”
There was barely room to stuff the familiar traveling pack through the hole that remains. It landed at Mike’s feet with a thump.
Right before the portal closed, he heard Leonardo murmur gently, “Good luck, otouto. You can do this.”
Michelangelo stared at the small square of blue and white fire until it blinked out of existence. It was so bright right before it went out that it left spots of color dancing in his vision. He blinked at the dark, unfamiliar landscape that surrounded him. He looked up to see a blanket of unfamiliar stars.
But the traveling pack was all too familiar. Mikey dropped back onto his knees, gathered the leather bag up in both arms, and started to cry.
Usagi had watched the incorporeal and specter-like visage of his dear friend fuming before him. It was odd, so much had changed about the shinobi leader in the years since the ronin had last seen him, yet at this moment he was just like the turtle that he befriended, young and lost. His demeanor was more restless, his words more bitter, then certainly the largest change were the eyes.
Eyes which had once been brilliant crystal blue orbs that shown with intelligence, determination and on more than one occasion, mischief, now were replaced by unseeing glossy white orbs that chilled the samurai to the core, even in this echoed illusion of the shinobi But Leonardo was one of his dearest friends and the loss of the warrior’s sight would do nothing to deter his dedication to the youth which he considered his brother.
“Three out of five, Usagi-san! It is a disgrace to my clan, to my sensei!”
The ronin nodded, knowing very well that Leo could not see the motion, but the shinobi could certainly sense it. “I understand, my friend. I am sure that your young brother did not intend to bring dishonor upon you-”
“Intention means nothing in this case, Usagi. The fact remains that he abandoned his training. Shell, even Raph stuck it out, Raph passed with flying colors.”
“Michelangelo is not Raphael. It is unfair to compare the two. Each warrior has both strengths and weaknesses, as I am sure you remember well.”
The terrapin’s features softened for a moment from the gentle reminder. “Yes, my friend. I remember all too well. Which is why I come to you for help in this. You helped me find my strength when it was lost to me. I hope that Michelangelo can learn similarly from you. Our time together changed me for the better. Please. Do this for me.”
The ronin held out a paw as if to grip Leo’s shoulder for a moment, but he quickly sighed and withdrew it, realizing the folly of his gesture. “Michelangelo is also not you, brother. However, I will take him as my charge, teach him what he will learn from me.”
His friend had left him very shortly after with a curt bow and a murmur of thanks, determined to follow through with his plan before Michelangelo had a chance to get comfortable after his return from his Tribunal tests.
He stared at the spot where the young shinobi yokai had evaporated into nothingness for quite some time. He could understand Leonardo’s frustration with his youngest brother, but that which the terrapin proposed to him seemed a little harsh. However, Leo knew his brother far better than the rabbit did. Perhaps he also knew how to best help Michelangelo now.
Which brought the samurai to his current position, sitting in the treeline near an all too familiar clearing. He watched as the portal opened high above the ground and grimaced as he saw his friend unceremoniously push the youngest of his clan out of his homeland and into unfamiliar territory with little to no explanation.
He let out a soft sigh, still believing that this route was too rough for one such as Michelangelo. A belief that was solidified for him as he rose from his position and began to cross the distance between him and his new companion who knelt on the ground, sobbing quietly.
The rabbit cleared his throat to announce his presence and softly called out, “Konnichiwa, Michelangelo-san. It is a pleasure to welcome you to my home.”
Michelangelo got back on his feet, knuckles roughly scrubbing his gaze clear and peered in vain at the tree line as soon as he heard Usagi’s softly cleared throat. His eyes were puffy and hadn't adjusted yet, but he knew that voice. And glad as he was to hear a friendly voice calling out from the darkness, Mike’s heart squeezed with fresh anguish as he realized the insane distance Leonardo had flung him. He had expected to end up on the opposite side of the world, marooned in New Zealand or Australia maybe.
But… this, dude! Mike’s brothers were in a whole different universe .
There was no time to give this tragic news the reaction it deserved. The terrapin threw his pack onto his muscular arms and marched towards the sound of that unexpected greeting. Once Mike was standing before the rabbit warrior, he looked dazed and grim and his face was still wet with recent tears. Still, he managed to stand up straight, give Usagi a formal forty-five-degree bow, and stammer politely, “Usagi-sama, douzo yoroshiku o-negai sh… shimasu ( Honored Usagi, please treat me kindly ). Or is it Usagi-sensei?” His face rumpled and his gaze plummeted to the ground. “Shitsurei shimasu ( Sorry to bother you ),” the turtle croaked, cupping his beak suddenly in both hands. “I… can’t. I can’t keep track anymore.”
Usagi took the last few steps needed to close the gap between the pair, his geta crunching the brittle grass beneath his feet. He tilted his head to the side, considering his companion with a cocked brow as he placed a gentle hand on the shinobi’s shoulder.
“You need not give me any special titles, Michelangelo-san. I am not your sensei, merely a guide as you learn what you may from my world.”
The ronin offered the young lad a kind smile before adding, “We are equals in this, my friend. I intend on learning just as much from you as you may learn from me.”
The samurai maintained his grip on Mikey’s shoulder for a few additional moments before dropping to his knee, pulling his own pack off of his shoulders and digging his paws into the depths. When he rose there were a few small bundles of cloth in his hands. “These were your brother’s… I am sure they will fit you as well.”
The freckled terrapin looked relieved at Usagi’s clarification. He nodded hesitantly, not looking at all confident in his ability to serve as a teacher to this honorable and professional warrior his oldest brother hero-worships. But he’s not about to contradict his only ally in this strange, backwater universe.
Whatever you say, dude . It’s possible that Usagi needs to know all the lyrics and dance moves to Uptown Funk, or how to make PB&J Pancake Tacos – a skill which he feels everyone should know because they are fucking delicious.
“Sumimasen ( apologetic thank you ),” Mike mumbled, ducking a smaller bow this time as he took the offered bundle without hesitance. He knelt to untie the fabric, shaking loose a tightly folded assortment of traditional clothing and accessories, and picked through them uncertainly: a kimono, a cloth belt, some real baggy pants, and a black shōzoku that is stiff with age. It made him think of Foot Clan initiates, though there was no red anywhere to be seen-- thankfully. He didn't unroll the shinobi gear completely but set it aside to be stashed in his pack.
The last thing Mike picked up was the wooden footwear. He held them up dubiously before offering the weird flip-flops back to Usagi. “Nope. Can’t do shoes, man. I’m sorry! It’s like – I tried , right? You have no idea. Because I have seen some human kicks that were so fucking rad, and I have been hella jealous. But even if I find a super big pair and I reshaped the soles and built up the arch and everything… uh, hypothetically ? It still won’t fucking work. I can’t move in them! Not like I’m supposed to, anyway. When I jump, I lose so much air. It’s not worth it!”
The ronin watched as his young companion took a closer look at the garb that he had provided to him, chuckling as the turtle handed back the worn geta. The rabbit took the shoes that belonged to his dearest friend and stashed them back in his own bag, intending to give the footwear back to their owner at his next convenience.
This turtle was certainly much different in personality than Leonardo. His language was far more colorful, for one. The way he held himself was less rigid and formal. But there was still so much that was familiar about Mikey. It almost pained the samurai as he was reminded of a far simpler time.
“Dōitashimashite ( you're welcome ), my friend. You may find that you change your mind about the footwear as we travel, Michelangelo-san. The terrain can be rough and unforgiving. But I will respect your decision in this for now.” With that, the ronin cinched his bag and threw it over his shoulders as he straightened to his full height.
Usagi turned his back on his companion, considering the road that lay in the distance as the turtle donned his new clothing. He called back over his shoulder, “If we head North the closest village is three days on foot, if we go South, likely a week’s travel. However, there is more opportunity for employment if we head South. Which way would you go?”
Michelangelo’s speech is so colorful it borders on incomprehensible a lot of the time. It’s much easier to understand his Japanese. The pronunciation is pretty damn good thanks to a natural-born knack for mimicry, and the word choice is basic and concise – if overly formal. Usagi will have to forgive the fact that Mike just hasn’t had much opportunity to practice speaking Japanese to peers. Leonardo’s the only one who peppers his speech with occasional Japanese words and phrases and never expects them to respond in kind. Raph and Don never speak it without a valid reason. It’s really only ever been demanded of him by authority figures, so these phrasings more appropriate to an elder or sensei will continue to pepper his speech every time he stops actively thinking about it.
The incredibly rapid pace, once he gets going sure, doesn’t help, but the primary reason his English baffles people from this world is because at least half of the words out of his mouth are slang and pop culture references. And even though his longer rants are likely to make any native’s head spin, there’s an appealing and infectious energy that pours off him when he rambles in his native tongue, like the confines of Japanese don’t allow ‘the real Mikey’ to shine through.
“Dude, I can’t navigate yet! I’m kinda busy checking me out in these bitchin’ anime pants,” Mike enthused, looking down and held out the fabric on one side to appreciate how incredibly wide-legged they are. “I don’t even think I gotta lug around a tent no more, cuz I can just pitch my fucking pants, right? But the problem is, we don’t got a proper waist. No hourglass figures for us turtles, so they’re gonna bust a major sag, like all the way to my ankles, the second I –heeeey, would you look at this? Oh, Leo. You crafty little Boy Scout. He put these little doohickeys on the sides, so it hooks onto a belt!”
The slight smile of admiration he’d been wearing flickered out abruptly as he remembered how pissed off he was at Leo. It sucked that he couldn't even mention Leo’s name without it sucking all the joy out of his heart. He quickly affixed the pants to his belt and plastered on a smile that still looks natural, chasing that fleeting feeling of enthusiasm in vain. He’ll get it back eventually. Mike’s always been a big proponent of ‘fake it ‘til you feel it’.
“Hell yeah, let’s do it! This shit is gonna be all Animal Farm meets The Last Samurai. No, wait. Let’s make that Samurai Champloo instead. Cuz, whoa. I am rocking some sexy Jin cosplay right about now. I mean, all I need is, like, a fake ponytail and some glasses. And the patience to stand around being all serious and traditional while my buddy cracks jokes and fights his enemies by break-dancing… huh. I gotta rethink this.” He scratched at his scalp briefly, then beamed at Usagi. “Unless you got one of these in red?”
Mike waved his hands preemptively. “Na-na, I’m playing. It’s awesome! Love it. Brings out my eyes. So, uh. Decisions, right? Navigating!” He deliberated with himself for a whole millisecond before suggesting, “Yeah, can we hit up the bigger place?”
Bigger is way better, even if it means a further walk. Because the thought of strolling through a well-populated area in broad daylight and having no one scream or cause a fuss…? Wow, that sounds downright magical.
The samurai turned to consider his companion as the jovial youth began to speak. With the playful banter that was streaming forth from Michelangelo, one would be hard-pressed to guess that he had just been forcibly removed from his own universe and marooned on an alien planet with nothing but a rucksack and a wish of ‘good luck’.
There was certainly something about the boisterous way that Michelangelo was talking that definitely made Usagi feel as though there was much more than meets the eye. For one, the tears had not even fully dried on the young shinobi’s face, yet here he was, acting as though this is a part of his daily routine. While the samurai was sure that there was more than just a little omission behind the joyful visage which his companion displayed, he respected the fact that it seemed as though Mikey needed to shield himself from those fresh wounds.
As the ronin watched Mikey’s display he placed one hand on his hip, raising a brow curiously as a continuous stream of language that he simply did not understand filled the space between them. Words for which he simply had no cultural context, whose meaning he could only guess met his ears, each one causing his brow to raise a bit further until he could swear, it was flush with the scar on his head.
“ Anime ”, “ Boy Scout ”… what in the name of the Gods was this “ Animal Farm ” and “ Samurai Champloo ”? He was not sure that he even wanted to know what a “cosplay” was… though he did find that he was somewhat curious about this “break-dancing”, he had never heard of that martial art form before.
He had opened his mouth for a moment to let the turtle know that unfortunately, it was the only outfit that he had available, but the question was waved away dismissively before he actually needed to answer it. The ronin had found that he had not actually closed his mouth afterward though, he simply remained standing, mouth agape as his new, and rather eccentric companion.
He nodded his head briefly as Michelangelo made the choice to head South, silently appreciating the shinobi’s willingness for a more arduous journey. However, he was still far more in awe at the almost indecipherable speech he had just been privy to. He was far more used to Leonardo’s way of speaking, only very rarely did the leader of the shinobi clan use any words that Usagi did not understand and when he did, his friend was always quick to explain. This partnership would be far different, so it would seem, and it would certainly take a period of adjustment.
As he looked upon the eager turtle the ronin’s slack-jawed look quickly shifted into a wide grin, a hearty chuckle erupting from the seasoned veteran. “Michelangelo-san… I haven’t any idea what you have just said to me!” After just a moment he brought a paw up to his face, scratching his cheek thoughtfully with a single black claw as he began to walk towards the road and added, “Well… not entirely true. I understand that you approve of your hakama… Correct? 'Bitchin’ is a positive thing, am I right, my friend?”
“Er… yeah!” Mike agreed, looking startled. “I mean, it can be. If something IS bitchin’ then it’s really impressive and, and uh – admirable. But if you say something like “quit your bitchin’’, it means stop whining and complaining. And a bitch-fest is when you and somebody else hang out together to grumble and complain about things together, as buds. If you say that somebody IS a bitch, it’s insulting. It means they’re like a…. sort of a mean… cold-hearted, aggravating woman. And you say it to a dude, that’s even worse, cuz then you’re also insulting their manliness and calling them weak, or whatever.” His head cocked thoughtfully, and he kicked a sharp rock out of his path with one big green toe. “Y’know, maybe it’s not worse. I’ve only been a dude before, so I can’t vouch for the feelings of alleged female bitches.”
With a slight frown, the terrapin pondered, “If there’s no word for ‘bitch’ in this world, then… how’m I supposed to bitch about bitches? Like, talking about Oroku Karai is completely off the table now. Or… uh… huh. She’s the only one I can think of who deserves the word. All the other women in my life pretty much kick ass. So… no big loss, after all, I guess.”
As he trudged alongside Usagi, the terrapin tried to think back on what he said earlier, trying to determine what else had been hard for Usagi to understand. Truth is, he’s already forgotten half of what he said. The TV show and book titles probably? It does make sense that the pop culture stuff wouldn’t translate. He’ll have to watch out for that. Apparently, curse words are a no-go as well…. or are they?
“What about ‘fuck’?” Mike looked over at Usagi and asked, cheerfully blunt, “Do you guys say ‘fuck’ in this world? Because that one’s essential. I’m pretty sure if Raph got stranded in a world where he couldn’t say fuck, he would hardly be able to talk. It would mostly be one-syllable words and frustrated caveman grunting.” It may sound like he is bashing his brother with this description, but Mike says this from across an ocean of fondness.
Usagi nodded as the pair picked their way across the open field, toward the dirt road in the distance. He had often found Leonardo’s way of speaking hard to understand but it was nothing compared to Michelangelo. In the past, he had been made well aware of the turtle’s language being comprised of many words that held many meanings… but this seemed wholly unnecessary. The next question, however, brought a chuckle to the ronin. ‘Fuck’ was a word he had become well acquainted with.
He brought one paw up, twisting the longer fur on his chin thoughtfully and said, “That is a word that I have heard your brother use on occasion…” At that moment the samurai was glad for the cover of darkness which served to hide the faintest hint of a blush that touched his cheeks, he quickly added, “So… if I am not mistaken, 'bitchin’ is a term of endearment. To cease one’s 'bitchin’ is to end a complaint…. a 'bitch-fest’ is gossip and a 'bitch’ is an unscrupulous person. Unless directed at a man, in which case you are calling him female?”
Something Usagi says stopped Mike in his tracks briefly, He jogged a few steps to match back up to his companion’s pace. But then the samurai kept translating his terms all wrong! Translating things is harder than he thought it would be. “Term of endearment? It sounds like flowery pink words, the kind you would find inside greeting cards. And there was a show or a movie or something called Terms of Endearment, but I never saw it. And… you didn’t either, heh. Yeah, uh - gossip and bitchfest are totally different things. Gossip’s just heeeeeey girl, listen to all this exciting stuff I heard. But a bitch fest is like, UGH, so much is awful. Your life, my life. Isn’t this thing awful? Yeah, I hate that shit.” Mike had to move on at that point. His imaginary bitchfesters were starting to remind him Don and Raph, the lair’s undisputed masters of gloom and sarcasm lately. “Umm. Unscrupulous doesn’t even start to capture the nuance of a proper bitch, Oroku Karai is not merely unscrupulous , okay? She’s heinous, black-hearted….” He had to stop there. He wants more words, uglier words, and suddenly his mind is assaulted with nothing but slang and cuss words.
Don’t get upset. Don’t get angry. Don’t scare Usagi away. Save it for later, just get it under control.
Mike was quiet for too long, but nothing could be done about it. He didn't trust his calm or his words yet and wound up gazing at the ground, watching the wind stir over the grass in front of him.
Usagi replaced his paw within the sleeve of his kimono, pursing his lips slightly. He always hated how he felt incredibly dull-witted when it came to the world of his dearest friend, it seemed that it was not a phenomenon which he would escape any time soon. “Many apologies for my misunderstanding, Michelangelo-san. I think that I shall just keep the mastery of colorful vocabulary in your very capable hands.”
“Naw, naw… don’t say that,” Mike cleared his throat and insisted quietly, in that persistent rasp, “We’ll figure it out. I just probably suck as a teacher. For real, nobody should ever follow me. Maybe on Tumblr, but nowhere else.” The young turtle flinched, “Sorry! I’m sorry. I did it again, know! Yer gonna hafta bear with me for a bit.”
The ronin chuckled at his newfound companion, “You need not apologize. I am sure it will take adjustment for each of us to grow accustomed to one another’s mannerisms.”
“So Leo really cusses in front of you?” Michelangelo wondered, shifting the pack on his shoulders. “He don’t really do that in front of us. He’s always gotta be a good example. I guess you got to see a different side of him.”
Usagi nodded at his companion but kept his eyes focused on the path before them. “It has been known to happen, yes. Though it was fairly infrequent, mind you…”
“Dude, I’m SO mad at him,” Mike huffed. His arms were tucked against his plastron, gripping the leather straps in his fists. “And I know he’s, like, your obvious bestie. So I’m not about to – I’m not gonna make you sit there and listen to me having a solo bitchfest.” He peeked over at Usagi. “Ya hear that? Used it in a sentence.”
Usagi turned and flashed an understanding smile at the young shinobi, “You should feel free to 'bitch-fest’ about this. I am able to hear your complaints about the predicament in which you currently find yourself without It tainting my own feelings.” The ronin let out a small sigh and added, “I did tell him that I thought this was unnecessary, but once he sets his mind to something it is near impossible to sway his course.”
“True that , yo,” Mike grumbled, against his better judgment. “He thinks he knows what’s best for everybody. And he won’t even explain how he knows what he knows. He’s not real big on sharing lately. Or listening. At least, not to me…” He was trying to get a proper bitchfest going, but it felt a bit weird talking bad about Leo to this one. It’s not like his duty-obsessed recluse of a big brother has many close friends to begin with. Michelangelo bets he could count them on one hand.
Usagi turned his head to properly look at Michelangelo as they walked. He nodded and began to speak quietly, “Michelangelo-san… It is your brother’s duty to do what he thinks is best for your clan. It is a tremendous responsibility and one that I do not envy. I do not wish to speak on behalf of Leonardo, nor defend his actions, they are his and his alone. However, I can say that he sees great potential in you, as does your council. This course would not have been undertaken were it not agreed by all those looking out for your best interests that this is an opportunity for your growth. You may find that you even enjoy learning what you may from this land and thank him for it in the future.”
“I guess weirder things have happened?” Mike declared with a forlorn sigh. “But to be honest, Usagi-san… maybe the best thing you and this land can teach me right now is how to… how to survive as a Ronin. At least that way I can’t bring more dishonor to the Hamato clan than I already have.”
Usagi set his jaw at the request. He almost could not believe what it was this child was asking of him. As they got to the dirt road and finally turned South the rabbit responded in an almost pained voice, “My friend… there is no honor to be found in the life of a ronin. To be a ronin in and of itself is a dishonor. I can teach you how to survive in the elements. I can teach you how to find work. I can even teach you how to kill effectively, but do not think that learning to live as I do will bring you honor, it is truly a life of dishonor that I lead.”
When Usagi offers to teach him to kill effectively, Michelangelo gave a brief, mirthless laugh and looked away. “I’m not sayin’ the life of a ronin is supposed to redeem me, Usagi-san,” he explains hoarsely, and more kindly than Leo would have spoken in such a black and self-deprecating mood. “I’m sayin’, it’s probably what I deserve.”
The way that the young turtle had laughed chilled Usagi to the core. It would seem that Michelangelo’s weapons may not be as clean as the ronin had believed. Though he, of course, was not one to pass judgment on this, his own body count far exceeded that of almost any that he knew, but he could not pretend that it did not take him by surprise.
“While you are my companion you will learn my way of life and, if you dedicate yourself to learning, you should be able to become proficient in the ways of survival. But I do not condone the thought of willingly living the life of a ronin. It is not a path I walk by choice, nor should it be yours.”
“Fer real, man. It’s not what I would choose if… things were different. It sounds kinda lonely. I’d always rather be around other people than on my own.” The terrapin in the orange mask readjusted his grip on the straps of his pack and looked up at the stars. “Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to learn: how not to need other people so much.”
Mike glanced nervously aside at Usagi. He was worried at the potential rudeness of his next question but felt compelled to ask it nonetheless. “How did you lose your clan, Usagi-san? Did you do something real bad..?”
Usagi kept his eyes trained on the path before him, he was not offended by the question, but it was a touchy subject, regardless.
“When I was much younger than I am now and had just finished my training of bushido I was chosen to serve under my master, Lord Mifune. I had quickly ascended within his ranks until I was one of his most trusted samurai. We were caught in a battle with a man by the name of Lord Hekiji. During the battle, I, along with another samurai, were directly assigned to protect my master’s flanks.
The tide of battle turned, not in our favor. The other warrior who was to stay at Lord Mifune’s side betrayed us, fleeing from the field of battle with his tail between his legs. I was unable to protect him and he suffered a fatal blow from his unguarded flank.
Before our enemies could disgrace the body of my Lord I beheaded him, fleeing from the battle myself in order to give him a proper burial rather than see his head upon a pike. But I left my clan to suffer the consequences of a battle, obviously lost.”
“Dude. That’s fucked up,” Mike pointed out with a frown of offense on his new companion’s behalf. “You got betrayed, Usagi-san! The battle was already… that’s so stupid! I’m pretty sure my clan would just be glad I didn’t die in that situation. I’d be pretty bummed. I’d be all, yeah, but my important dude back there! And Leo would say, “Forget that. Thank the ancestors you’re okay!” And Raph would lovetap me and say ‘Ya did yer best, so quit cryin’ about it.“ And Don would say something about likeliest outcomes and the percentages of so fucking outnumbered that we were, and I would just look at him blankly till he remembered who he was talking to and go, "Let’s order a pizza, Mikey. Any kind you want.” And…“ He cut himself off abruptly, his brow creased deeply and shook his head. "That sounds like… a really harsh clan is all I’m sayin’.”
Usagi could not repress the small grin that tugged at his lips at Mikey’s exuberant defense of him and of the colorful explanation of how the situation may have turned out differently were it his clan. The ronin chuckled lightly turned his head towards his companion. The smile that accompanied his raised brow showed clearly that we had taken no offense. “You are lucky to have a family as you do, my friend. I do want you to understand that my clan did not abandon me or cast me out, Michelangelo-san. My clan was simply no more. Had I not been able to at least prevent Lord Mifune’s body from desecration, which I honestly feel redeemed me to a certain point, I would have committed seppuku to join them.”
“Oh… wow.” Michelangelo felt like an ass now. The idea that Usagi’s whole clan had been decimated had not occurred to him. “Uh. Sorry.” His tongue darted to wet the edges of his mouth uncertainly. “We don’t really believe in that. I mean. We believe other clans do it. We’re not, like, in total denial about it. But we don’t think it’s… we don’t condone it.” He glanced down at himself and knocked a fist gently to indicate the hard plastron underneath his new Gin cosplay outfit. “Plus, it would be hard. I think we’d need some kind of hand saw…”
Mike clapped a hand sharply over his beak and cringed with sudden humiliation. “F-forgive me, Usagi-san,” he said through his fingers. “I know it’s not cool to joke about something like that! It’s a serious and awful thing and I didn’t mean to be disrespectful! I dunno why –” His voice cracked and his eyes pool, “why I’m like this…”
Usagi cringed at the response that he had gotten from his young shinobi companion. Perhaps he should have made it a point to keep things a little more lighthearted than this while Michelangelo was still adjusting to his new lot in life. The ronin stopped in his tracks, reaching a paw out to catch ahold of the turtle’s kimono.
“Michelangelo-san, please wait. You need not apologize or feel any grief on my account. I understand that you did not mean any harm and I assure you that I take no offense.”
“Right, uh-” Mike uncovered his mouth and quickly scrubbed at his flushed face with the back of his hand. “Good, that’s–” He nodded lamely and swallowed. “Sorry. I been hardcore burned for not being respectful lately… like, a lot. And it’s just.” He ran out of air and paused to take a shuddering breath. “I can’t let that happen with you. I dunno what kind of mess I’d be right now if you weren’t here.”
Usagi took a step forward and placed his paw on Michelangelo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It had to be extremely painful to be in the situation that the young turtle was in right now and the samurai’s heart went out to the lad. He looked up to the taller warrior, his gaze softening as he let out a soft sigh. “Michelangelo-san, you need not worry, my friend. You gave no disrespect.” The rabbit smiled kindly and added, “It has been a long evening for you… I think it may be for the best that we break for camp for tonight. Perhaps things will not seem so bad in the light of day.”
Michelangelo nodded slowly. He would love for what Usagi is saying to be true, but he wasn't convinced of it. Tomorrow everything would still be perfectly awful. But he didn't voice these words. He didn’t want to sound like such a downer. That’s not who he wanted to be.
So he said nothing and followed Usagi to where the samurai rabbit had set up what appears to Mike as a fairly impressive campsite. His bloodshot blue eyes looked first to the little woven lean-to, a marvel of sticks bundled into an orderly row and laced together with vines, all of it resting on a cross brace tied up between two trees with what looked like a length of strong silk-woven rope. There’s also the remains of a campfire which had clearly been lit and could easily be lit again. The firewood and tinder had already been laid out in preparation.
It looked like so much work for a temporary shelter. Meanwhile, Mike couldn't be bothered to put the sticks in his tent most of the time. “I mostly sleep in the trees,” he commented absently, glancing around at several good options he had already spotted. His trusty shuko spikes make tree climbing pretty easy, and his idea of a ‘good option’ actually means ‘not easily climbable by someone who is not a ninja’.
The young turtle bid Miyamoto Usagi a humble good night but didn’t actually attempt sleep for some time. Evidence of his wakefulness was left all over the camp the following morning. Designs had been drawn into the dirt on all four sides of the camp, at the cardinal points.
Flame designs, sharp and flickering lines that spread out from a pile of ashes that remain of the small fire he borrowed from Usagi’s campfire. Earth is represented by a small cairn of stacked stones, and round vibrations are drawn in the dirt as if vibrating out from it. The next is water, many liquid wave zig zags, all agitated and exciting – though the splash from his canteen which he dumped in the middle of this section had long evaporated by the time Usagi woke. Finally, air displayed as lots of short, gradually further spaced ripples drawn into the dirt around a bundle of silver-headed dandelion puffs, the stems tied together with stalks of crabgrass into a delicate bouquet.
He drew all of this, arranged all of this, without making a sound or doing anything to wake Usagi.
Originally, this whole masterpiece was supposed to be a tribute to Avatar: The Last Airbender, but by the end of it, his thoughts were turned fully to Leonardo’s teachings, all the stuff he had said about godai . When he did finally return to his collapsed camouflage tent high in the tree branches, he gazed down at his creation and decided that the fifth element doesn’t need representation. The representation of void and sky was up here in the trees with him.